


Academy Fight Song

by mysteryroach



Category: Silicon Valley (TV)
Genre: Gen, Pre-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-25
Updated: 2015-08-02
Packaged: 2018-04-11 02:30:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 3,868
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4417532
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mysteryroach/pseuds/mysteryroach
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What do you do when your dream turns out to be bullshit?</p><p>How Richard and Bighead ended up at the incubator.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Ask Me Jerky Questions

**Author's Note:**

> i was just kind of interested in how richard and bighead wound up at the incubator and the genesis of pied piper and all that. title/chapters come from "academy fight song" by mission of burma. i'm punk trash, what can i tell ya.
> 
> it'll be depressing i guess but so's life if you live on a couch. we've all been there, am i right.

Richard and Bighead got hired at Hooli together. They were working in different departments (and honestly, Richard never got a handle on what Bighead’s job was because he himself didn’t seem to understand it), but they were together, living their dream.

Richard knew that his code was good, and that college couldn’t teach him any more than he knew. He needed to go to one of the big tech giants and make his name there. It was going to be a dream, especially compared to the shitty student jobs he had to work to stay afloat. He could wear his own clothes to work instead of itchy, stiff polo shirts or aprons (how demeaning are aprons, honestly?) that drove him insane. He wouldn’t have to panic his way through complicated social rituals just to get people coffee. It would be home.

Bighead followed, because that was what Bighead did. He heard the promise of big money and working side-by-side with Richard, and that sounded good to him, so he went. Unlike Richard, Bighead had no real goals or vision. This never seemed to bother him. People assumed that Bighead was stupid. Richard, of all people, knew that he…well, he wasn’t stupid. He was fun, and he understood Richard, and he was so completely without stress that, when you thought about it, he was the one who really had it figured out. Richard assumed that Bighead got the job through charm. This happened sometimes. People thought Bighead, with his short frame and vacant expression, was just adorable, and it seemed pretty unlikely that Hooli would hire someone based on that, but it was just as unlikely that they hired him due to his coding skills, so take your pick.

Richard, on the other hand, got hired on skill alone. He vomited before the interview, of course, but anyone could see that he belonged there, even if he was an anxious wreck. They weren’t looking for someone to smile and say the right line. They needed good coders, and that’s what he was. This was definitely where he belonged, more than anywhere else.

Actually living in the cradle of one’s dreams was more complicated. Bighead’s overly accommodating parents helped by sending money every month, but Richard felt guilty about mooching off of them too. Bighead, naturally, didn’t mind. Even with the help, they wound up living in a two-bedroom apartment with three other guys, and they did not get bedroom access. Bighead was small enough to get the couch and Richard had to make do with an air mattress. He was pretty sure that sleeping so close to the ground was bad for his airways and he had a cold constantly. Richard felt like a baby, sniffling all the time.

Nobody in the apartment socialized. They brought their laptops in to get breakfast in order to avoid talking. This wasn’t terrible, Richard reasoned, since roommate situations did get awkward, so treating it like a business arrangement was probably better than trying to be friends.

It did get lonely though.

Richard tried to distract himself through work. Everything about the environment at Hooli was designed to make a person feel like they weren’t at work. It was like a parent desperate to be their kid’s friend. It had its perks, but it wasn’t fooling anybody. Richard was still doing low-level grunt work to live in an overcrowded apartment. He liked the work itself, but it was easy and boring and safe. There was no creativity involved.

And then he went home to nothing. Bighead was helpful, but he was starting to get overwhelmed too, maybe even worse.

“I just don’t know what I’m doing here, man,” Bighead told him one night. Richard had nothing to tell him.

They spent a lot of nights sitting in silence, both knowing that the other was weighing the pros and cons of going back home. What do you do when your dream turns out to be bullshit?

“No, you know what?” Richard said one night. “This is…listen, this isn’t forever. This is the worst, I mean, I know. I’m sleeping on the floor. My hip hurts so bad I think I need a cane. When’s the last time you were able to take a shower lasting more than four minutes? But…this is what everybody has to deal with before they make it. This is temporary. I’m telling you.”

“Yeah,” Bighead said. “You know, uh…there was this guy wandering around earlier today and I started talking to him. He’s supposed to be like, super famous? Have you ever heard of some company called Aviato?”

“No.” Richard said.

“Yeah, me either. But like, he owns this house and he’s looking for like, programmers that are developing apps. And he’ll let you live there in exchange for like, 10 percent of whatever money the apps make? And I don’t know, it’s an idea. I mean, it would be further away from work, but maybe we could figure something out?”

“I don’t really have any ideas.” Richard said.

“I do. I mean, it’s very like, I don’t have all the details yet but it’s an idea. And you can think of something. It’s just…it’s a thought. Do you want to call him?”

He handed Richard a business card that read: _Erlich Bachmann. Visionary._


	2. The Halls Smell Like Piss

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The entrance of Erlich

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i'm starting to realize how plotless this whole thing is. it was supposed to be more about a mood or something but that isn't working out so let's see where this ride goes. cuz you know i don't know!

The idea came to Richard on the day that he and Bighead were supposed to meet the guy. He sketched out the basics but was desperately hoping that the guy didn’t want to see a prototype. He wanted to assume that that would come in time, that a really good presentation would be enough.

_Fuck._

Richard forgot that this was basically an interview. And that he was banking on his personality and not his code.

He almost threw up on the front lawn, but he was lucky enough to make it to the garbage can. Which turned out to actually be the recycling.

_Fuck._

He and Bighead came as a package deal, as usual. Richard wasn’t sure whether to dress up or down, so he put a hoodie on over a shirt and tie. He had to ask Bighead to tie it, and he could only do it on a doorknob while looking up “how to tie a tie” on YouTube. And it still took several tries. Bighead didn’t bother to dress up. Richard breathed a sigh of relief when the guy came to the door in a bathrobe.

“Gentlemen, welcome!” the guy said. “I _am_ Erlich Bachmann, founder of Aviato, and of the incubator you see before you. Come in.”

Bighead gave Richard a look that asked, _is this guy for real?_

The house was nice, if kind of old and overstuffed. They would have their own rooms. Erlich didn’t seem to care about any of this, and Richard had to figure it out himself. Erlich quickly led them through the house and sat them down in the living room.

“Now, let’s get down to business. Your pitches. Little guy, you go first.”

Everything Erlich said was imbued with this theatrical quality that let everyone know that he was the most important person in the universe. He was Steve Jobs, and you loved him.

“Uh, well, it’s Nelson. Or Bighead, but—“

“I don’t care. Proceed.” Erlich reached for a bong on the coffee table and took a massive hit.

“Okay, well my idea is like a social networking app for women who have erect nipples? So like…how it works is that women will sign in and alert when they have erect nipples, right? And that alerts the men in the area, you know, in case they want to see? I don’t really have the details super hashed out but I definitely feel like this could be viable if I have the right uh, environment to work on it.”

Erlich blew smoke right in Bighead’s face and smiled.

“You know what? That’s fucking great, I’m in. What’s your name? Bighead?”

“Uh, Nelson…”

“Bighead, welcome to my incubator!”

Bighead shrugged and looked at Richard.

“Okay, Princess, you’re next.” Erlich said.

“Richard. Um…okay well can I be honest with you?” Richard averted his eyes.

“You fucking better be. I don’t waste money on liars.”

“Okay. So I came up with this idea this morning, and I know that there’s a lot that will need to be ironed out but I have an idea that I think will take care of it even though I don’t uh, I don’t have it actually on paper yet, as it were. So uh…do you remember how people were saying “Blurred Lines” was a ripoff of that Marvin Gaye song, right?” He didn’t pause to let Erlich respond. The words were forcing themselves out of him and if he stopped, he would probably vomit again. “So what I came up with was a search engine that would, uh, allow songwriters to enter their music in and it would check to see if the melody or the words were infringing on any existing copyrights. I have a name, uh…it’s Pied Piper, you know, like—“

“Richard, I’m going to stop you right there.” Erlich said. “Copyright infringement is the basis of all music. Without it, we’d all be jerking off to some dusty old white guy crap from the 1940s.”

Richard’s face fell.

“But, as you also know, Silicon Valley loves to play it safe in its musical aesthetics. Everything is U2 and hand claps out here. So, as much as I oppose the concept, I do feel like this idea could make a lot of money. Richard, you’re in.”

The cocoon of anxiety cracked and fell around Richard. He smiled at Erlich, and almost said “you won’t regret this”, until he was interrupted.

“You’re going to have to change that name though. Not to worry, I’m amazing at names. Just give me some time.” Erlich said.

So they would be able to move in the next week. Erlich emphasized that the openings in his incubator were due to two _failures_ whose apps turned out to not be viable, and so Richard and Bighead had to take this as a serious business opportunity. Which they planned on, but it was hard to do when the person trying to put pressure on you was wearing a bathrobe and doing bong rips while doing it.

“So you better be ready next week,” Erlich said as he showed them out.

“By the way Richard,” he said. “I like your outfit. Definite iconoclasting. That’s what I’m about.”

Richard forgot that he was even wearing a tie.


	3. I'm Not Judging You, I'm Judging Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Move-in day

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> there will be one more chapter after this one, so enjoy. sorry it took a long time, life stuff was getting in the way. hope it was worth the wait.
> 
> i'm also going to make an 8tracks playlist to go along with this fic that i'll post with the last chapter. so look forward to that.

**I.**

The name was half-remembered. Richard thought that he had really liked the Pied Piper story when he was little, but he couldn’t remember the details. There was a flute, maybe? Was it a magic flute? He forgot. But honestly, he thought it was a good name. The whole thing started just as an idea to move out of his apartment, but now it became his escape. It reminded him why he wanted to code in the first place. He wanted to create something really good. Something that he could be proud of. He didn’t want to just plug away all day, anonymously. He wanted to code, but he also needed to be _someone_. That was what he didn’t realize before.

This could be it. This could be big.

He hadn’t even moved into the new house yet. He still needed to buy a bed. And if he was going to buy a bed, he would probably need a mattress too. And sheets. And maybe some hangers? For once, he was happy for Bighead’s mother. She guided Bighead through the process, and he picked things up through her advice.

They were at IKEA when Bighead asked, “so have you been working on your app thing at all?”

“Yeah. Have you?”

“I mean, I guess,” Bighead said as he beelined towards children’s furniture. “I don’t know. I don’t know if I think working at Hooli is that bad. I think I just hate our apartment.”

“I guess”, Richard said. “I don’t know, I mean, I think this could be a good opportunity. I don’t feel like I want to be doing quality assurance my whole life, you know? And don’t you kind of feel like all that forced happiness at Hooli is sort of fucked up?”

“No, not really.” Bighead shrugged. “Hey, do you think I’m too big for this desk?” he asked as he lifted a bright red chair/desk combo over his head and lowered it onto his shoulders. Richard had to laugh.

 

**II.**

Before he started working at Hooli, Richard heard all the stories about the weird employment practices at Google or Facebook and he knew that they were all just tactics of psychological manipulation. If you get a rock climbing wall and and a Lego corner and a cereal bar at work, you’re having just enough fun to forget that you’ve been sleeping at work for the past week. He knew all of that, but he figured that it wasn’t really a big deal—he was doing the work he was meant to do, he could handle a little coerced fun once in a while. What you don’t realize when you’re not there is just how totalitarian it feels. You can conceptualize it, make jokes about the Brave New World shit going on in the Valley, but you can’t feel it. Now Richard was feeling it hard. All of the bright colors and team sports and bike meetings just made it clear that there would always be a wall between him and the rest of the world. His entire life he thought it was just because he was smart, he was nerdy, he was into computers, but now he was in an environment where everyone was smart and nerdy and into computers and he still felt exactly the same. He was small. He was nothing.

He was sitting at his desk in the wide open office, wishing he could just lower himself onto the floor under his desk and push the chair in behind him. He was begging for some privacy. Instead, he could just put his head in his hands and silently remind himself _I came here to code and I am coding right now. I have what I want_. But what he needed to do was to cry. Christ, for everything this fucking complex has, they can’t have a designated crying room? Isn’t _that_ supposed to be healthy? But no, work had to be a place of unbridled enthusiasm all the time. Negative emotions weren’t productive.

Richard was reminded of when he was a little kid and his parents were worried because he cried all the time. He cried when his mom left him with the babysitter. He cried when the babysitter left. He cried when a baseball game meant that his favorite show would be on late and he would miss it. He had no other response to employ if he wanted to. So his parents took him to the doctor, who shrugged and said that there wasn’t anything she could do. So his mom just let him cry things out. If she asked him to stop, it would just upset him more, so she would sit on the floor and rub his back or else just leave him alone and bring him a glass of water whenever the crying stopped. And eventually he grew out of it. His body developed other ways to express his constant anxiety, sure, but he did stop crying every day. And after he cried, he felt better. If he could be in charge of something, he would want it to be an environment where people could be negative. People could be unhealthy. They could do whatever helped them to get shit done and feel good about it.

Right now the only thing that could make him feel good at work was the thought that someday he might leave.

 

**III.**

Richard and Bighead didn’t give any contemplative glances to the living room they shared. Once they were out, who gave a shit? Burn it to the ground. It was moving day, and Erlich begrudgingly brought his van to transport the big pile of nothing that Richard and Bighead were bringing along. The van was garish, completely covered in the Aviato logo. Richard was in awe of Erlich. He never revealed what Aviato was, exactly, but between the name and the logo, Richard deduced that it had to be some kind of airfare comparison app, which wasn’t revolutionary at all. And yet, just through pure dick-swinging bravado, Erlich was able to walk through life genuinely _believing_ that he was some kind of tech genius. Richard needed to know how he did it.

As they drove, Erlich started talking.

“All right, boys, before we get to the house, you need to know the ground rules. It’s all really under one umbrella, which is that if I own it, you don’t touch it. Everything is labeled. So if you see my name on it, hands the fuck off. Not my food, not my weed, not my VHS tapes. Got it?”

Richard and Bighead nodded and then realized that Erlich was driving and verbally affirmed instead.

“All right, and one more thing. I’m a businessman. I’m not running a flophouse for dudes to jerk off in. I expect you to work. Understand?”

“Yeah, yeah, we understand,” Richard said. He still thought that if Erlich wanted to convey a businesslike atmosphere, he shouldn’t base so much of his life around weed, but he also immediately deferred to authority, and this guy had it.

They pulled up to the house and Erlich didn’t even offer to help carry anything in. Richard and Bighead walked into the door, lugging their boxes from IKEA, and saw two guys sitting at the long table in the living room.

“Oh, hey, guys,” Richard said. “I’m Richard, this is Bighead.”

“Well, Nelson, actually, but…you know what, it’s fine.” Bighead said.

“Hey,” one of the guys said, without looking up. “I’m Dinesh. That’s Gilfoyle, who is a complete asshole.”

The other guy looked up. “Hey Dinesh, I have a question. When you do your nightly fisting sessions, could you at least turn some music on or something? I blew out my speakers because of you.”

Dinesh chuckled casually. “Yeah, Gilfoyle, by the way, tell your mother that I’m sorry for how hard I slammed her pussy last night. She should put some ice on that, honestly.”

Richard was glad to hear people actually reacting to each other with genuine vitriol instead of being weirdly undermining. It felt real. But once Dinesh and Gilfoyle started with each other, it felt like there were no other humans on Earth. He took this opportunity to bring the increasingly heavy box to his room.

No one would expect Richard to be good at putting furniture together, but he was. It was just putting things together. It also allowed him to feel sort of masculine and physical, just for a minute. Just while putting his loft bed together in a shared house for computer nerds. So it didn’t really work, but in no time, his bed and desk were assembled. He had a room for himself.

As he was going back to the car, he checked on Bighead, who was struggling with his own furniture.

“Oh, thank God,” Bighead said. “Look, can you help me with this?”

Richard quietly set to work again.

“What was the point of dropping out of college if you need a degree to put a bed together?” Bighead asked. Richard smirked. When he finished, they looked at the room together.

“We’re moving up in the world, Richard.” Bighead said.


	4. Not Your Academy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gilfoyle gets pumped up about shit.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> as promised, here's the accompanying 8tracks playlist: http://8tracks.com/johnmunch420/the-academy-fight-song-companion
> 
> i do really encourage you to listen to it if you like the fic because i think it adds to the experience, also it's pretty great.
> 
> also i KNOW i blew my wad and wrote the ending all at once i don't care, i'm just having a good time. read at your own pace.

**I.**

Work was slightly easier now that Richard had actual privacy. That still meant “a place to cry”, but it was better than just holding it in and crying in his sleep. He got to enjoy it this way. It helped that he was living in a place where, if nothing else, the people didn’t ignore each other. Dinesh and Gilfoyle fought constantly, and their sniping reminded Richard that he existed among people. It was something he forgot at work.

He also spent an increasing amount of time working on Pied Piper. Not since he was a teenager just into coding had he felt so…godlike working. In a weird moment of confidence, he told Erlich that it was going to be “the Google of music”. Erlich slapped him on the back so hard that it hurt and told him that that was _exactly_ what he needed to hear. Immediately after he said it, he worried that he was overselling it and setting everyone up for disappointment. But when he was in a coding k-hole, he knew that he was right. He was creating something people wanted but didn’t have. He was filling a hole in the marketplace (“unlike in other areas,” Erlich would probably answer). This was what he needed to do.

Work panic attacks were still a daily occurrence, though. Everyone was expected to be working on something, but if you were too enthusiastic about what you were doing privately, you were just being snobby. Hooli was a great place to work, what were you talking about? Sure does _suck_ working in such a loose, creative environment. Richard didn’t understand the rules. He couldn’t figure out how he was supposed to act. So he would lock himself in one of the more private bathrooms and hyperventilate for a while.

 

**II.**

He and Gilfoyle didn’t talk much. Mainly because Gilfoyle scared him. He appreciated hearing his voice insulting Dinesh, but he just seemed so _present_ and sure of himself. And also like he hated everyone, but Richard was used to that. So when he was pacing around the living room to an audience of Erlich and Gilfoyle, ranting about the oppressive atmosphere at Hooli, he was shocked when Gilfoyle spoke up.

“Fucking of course, dude”, he said, looking so goddamn casual in his black jeans and his t-shirt that said MAN IS THE BASTARD.

“What?” Richard stopped.

“You’re not fucking corporate. That’s all it is. That’s why I stopped sucking other people’s dicks doing network security. That’s why I got kicked out of every fucking grindcore band in Toronto. I’m not corporate. Those environments aren’t fucking made for people to live in unless they have something seriously fucked up and damaged about them.”

“I guess, but…” Richard started, but couldn’t think of something else to say.

“Humans are ruled by drives,” Gilfoyle picked up the slack for him. “The least natural thing in the world is to create bureaucracies that compartmentalize down to when you can shit. It’s why I subscribe to one rule: ‘do as thou wilt shall be the whole of the law’. All that’s happening is that you’re fucking awake.”

Richard and Erlich were both astounded at hearing Gilfoyle speak so many words that weren’t directly insulting.

“Well yeah, that was pretty much exactly what I was gonna say too,” Erlich said.

“You’re fucking awake, Richard”, Gilfoyle said as he got up to leave.

Richard sat down and went to work.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i don't want to pat myself on the back too hard but are you loving the idea that gilfoyle thought toronto-area grindcore was too corporate? i sure am.
> 
> feedback appreciated as always. y'all rock.


End file.
